


tie you in ways (that you can't undo)

by plainjane8



Series: on your knees (when you look at me) [2]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Non-Sexual Bondage, Post-Canon, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Rope Bondage, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24113017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plainjane8/pseuds/plainjane8
Summary: Ray adjusts on the couch but he doesn’t look at Brad when he speaks, “Can you do it now?”Brad doesn’t move; he absolutely does not make a face of any kind and he does not move.“Now?”Ray finally turns on the couch, just enough to look at Brad. “Yeah, now.”Brad looks back at Ray and tries to read him. Tries to answer his own questions. Ray’s not exhausted or sleep deprived. He’s not keyed up on adrenaline. He’s not in the middle of 20-minute rant about lesbians or the Illuminati. He’s just sitting there, flush from tequila but otherwise seemingly fine.This isn’t like being in-country at all. This isn’t a Ray that Brad wants to hurt.
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Ray Person
Series: on your knees (when you look at me) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739812
Comments: 9
Kudos: 59





	tie you in ways (that you can't undo)

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess this is a thing now. 
> 
> As always, I own nothing but my thoughts. Writing gods willing, there will be more.
> 
> Title is from "CVS" by Winnetka Bowling League.

Ray starts humming the minute they sit down on the flight back to Pendleton. Twenty minutes in and he’s got half the plane belting out a truly abysmal rendition of “Stacy’s Mom.”

Brad doesn’t join in but he turns to the window to hide a smile. He decidedly _does not_ look at Ray but Ray seems to know anyway. He sings the chorus even louder, shoulder jostling Brad’s where he’s practically dancing out of his seat.

The guys make it through the song and Brad can already tell that Ray’s just gearing enough for another one, apparently having decided that the flight might as well double as a karaoke night.

“Ray, I think we’re all clear on your amorous feelings about your mom, sister, cousins and any farm animal small enough for you to pin down. Why don’t you give it a rest for a minute?”

“Bradley, baby, you always say the sweetest things.” Ray’s fluttering his eyelashes and he looks like a fucking idiot.

Brad does everything he can not to smile, “Didn’t I say no pet names in public, princess?”

Ray cackles a little and rolls his eyes. He elbows Brad sharp in the ribs. “Wake me for snacks.”

Brad breaks into a smile at that, “I’ll save you a juicebox and everything.”

Ray’s tucking his chin down onto his chest but Brad can still hear him mumbling something that sounds a lot like _Grape is my favorite_.

Who the fuck likes grape best?

⫸⫸⫸

Brad knows Ray isn’t reupping before word gets out. He knows probably before Ray even knows.

It’s not hard to tell. Ray isn’t built for this life. He’s not _soft_. Far from it really. But he’s not built for this.

Brad can see how another couple years, hell even another couple months, in the desert, this _wasteland_ would dull Ray. Leaving him too on edge, a little too sharp. Less boisterous singing at the most inopportune moments and more sullen silences and driving intentionally into ditches—calculated risks instead of careless exuberance.

It’s not right for him.

Brad knows, probably better than anyone— _certainly_ better than Ray that Ray could do it. He could survive on peanut butter packets and Ripped Fuel. He could last about a week without sleep at a time. He could let the sand and the wind of the desert beat at him relentlessly. He could survive it.

But Brad knows that Ray doesn’t want to. Besides—surviving isn’t living.

Or so he’s been told.

⫸⫸⫸

Rudy hosts the paddle party.

Apparently one of the guys with a single shred of logic left in his brain decided it made sense to celebrate before they all fucked off to their separate corners of the country. Brad doesn’t usually disagree with perfectly good logic but it feels a little hurried.

It’s good party. Just fine. They crowd around Rudy’s backyard, sprawled out in scattered lawn chairs. Brad even thinks he eyes Poke playing corn hole. He makes a mental note to give him hell for that later. Fucking _corn hole._

Lilley breaks out the tequila before anyone starts passing the paddle and Brad is eternally grateful. He hasn’t decided what to say yet.

Six beers and four shots of tequila later things get a lot clearer.

It’s almost his turn and the desire to slip out the side door without saying a word has been dulled by the warmth of liquor and the knowledge that Ray will make his life a living hell if he tries to duck out now.

He plans to say something generous, something about Ray’s impressive competency, about how’s he’s the _most annoying little shit_ Bravo has ever seen, about his ability to alleviate the tension of virtually any situation, about how Brad wouldn’t ever want anyone else at the wheel of his victor. That’s what he plans to say.

What comes out instead is pure Iceman, through and through. He ends up muttering something cool and professional about Ray’s exemplary service.

Ray laughs right in his face. Walt joins in and the two quickly break into the chorus of _Ice, Ice, Baby_.

Brad resolutely does not say a word.

⫸⫸⫸

When the party finally starts breaking up, Ray appears at Brad’s elbow with his keys in hand. Brad raises an eyebrow at him.

“Do I want to ask where you got those and what you plan to do with them or is it better not to know?”

Ray jingles the keys in his hand, “Come on Colbert, it’s slumber party time!”

Brad rolls his eyes but he follows Ray out to the street and into the truck anyway. Ray gets in the driver’s side and Brad slips into the passenger seat and it shouldn’t make sense at all.

There’s no good reason that Ray should be driving Brad’s truck stateside. No reason he should be changing lanes and making turns like he knows where he’s going. It doesn’t make any fucking sense and it’s the easiest thing Brad has done all day.

They make it to Brad’s place easily and Brad doesn’t ask why Ray knows how to get there. He doesn’t have to even say it out loud.

“Come _on_ homes. What kind of RTO would I be if I didn’t know how to _get you where you’re going_?” Ray’s practically leering from the driver’s side of the truck.

“Ray, I know you know that’s not what an RTO does.” Brad slips out of the truck and heads to the house. He makes it up to the door before he realizes that Ray still has his keys.

Ray lets them in and they’re on the couch, beers on the coffee table and tv a low buzz in the background before Brad feels a prickle of self-consciousness again. It’s weird how weird this _isn’t._

There’s no good reason for Ray to be here, no reason for him to have driven Brad’s truck here, he’s had easily as much to drink as Brad if not even more. There’s no good reason for this that Brad wants to bring to light by asking out loud.

He doesn’t have to.

Ray adjusts on the couch but he doesn’t look at Brad when he speaks, “Can you do it now?”

Brad doesn’t move; he absolutely does not make a face of any kind and he does not move.

“Now?”

Ray _finally_ turns on the couch, just enough to look at Brad. “Yeah, now.”

Brad looks back at Ray and tries to read him. Tries to answer his own questions. Ray’s not exhausted or sleep deprived. He’s not keyed up on adrenaline. He’s not in the middle of 20-minute rant about lesbians or the Illuminati. He’s just sitting there, flush from tequila but otherwise seemingly fine.

This isn’t like being in-country at all. This isn’t a Ray that Brad wants to hurt.

“Does it have to be the same?”

The tip of Ray’s tongue peeks out to poke at the corner of his mouth, “Uhh I guess not homes. I don’t fuckin’ know. You’re supposed to run the show.”

Brad flits through his options quickly, wondering how best to feel out the boundaries of whatever they’re doing but not talking about.

Brad stands and barks a firm, “ _Stay_ ” at Ray that he accompanies with a squeeze to Ray’s shoulder before he leaves the room.

He finds some rope in the garage that he usually uses to tie his surfboards to the truck with and he finds an old tie in the bedroom closet. He debates trying to dig up another to gag Ray with. Brad decides against it. If all goes well, he doesn’t imagine Ray will need to be gagged at all.

Brad makes it back to the living room and Ray is still seated where Brad left him. Brad debates relocating but it doesn’t feel right. Inviting Ray back to his bedroom feels to intimate and relocating to the spare room feels too impersonal. The living room will just have to work.

Brad sets the rope and the tie on the coffee table next to their empty bottles and waits for Ray’s assessment.

Ray lets out a long breath before he’s slipping off the couch, melting right down and onto the floor where he kneels between the couch and the table and _oh_.

Brad hadn’t even considered that. He wants to immediately kick himself for not even considering that.

Brad shuffles around Ray to sit on the edge of the couch and he lets Ray watch him wind the rope around his wrists. Brad binds Ray’s wrists in front of him, snug but not so tight that Ray will lose circulation. Ray looks him right in the eyes before Brad slips the tie onto Ray’s forehead.

“Let me know if it gets too much.” Ray nods but he doesn’t reply. The tie gets slid down over Ray’s eyes and Brad just stares for a moment.

He nudges Ray until they’re both arranged the way he wants, with Ray kneeling in front of the couch, leaning a warm line into Brad’s legs and Brad reclined back into the couch so as not to hover over Ray too much.

Brad reaches for the remote with one hand and sinks the other into the meat of Ray’s shoulder. Ray _crumbles_ and they both exhale.

Brad’s forty minutes into watching Kill Bill when he realizes Ray is asleep, head lolling over onto Brad’s knee with Brad’s hand still wrapped around the back of his neck.

Brad ends up dragging Ray up onto the couch, bound arms flopping uselessly. He slips the tie off Ray’s head, unwinds his wrists and leaves him asleep on the couch, water and Advil on the coffee table waiting for the morning.

⫸⫸⫸

When Brad wakes up in the morning, the water, Advil and Ray are all gone from the living room. In their place is a note, scratched roughly on the back of a Chinese take out menu.

⍟⍟⍟⍟

_4/5 stars. So good I almost didn’t miss the bruises._

_—R_


End file.
